


And Forgive Us Our Trespasses

by but_i_am_a_villain



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Expansion of Ann's nightmare, F/F, Kinda?, Night Terrors, Nightmares, S1 Ep6: Do Ladies Do That?, ann is sad and anne is sad and i am sad as well, the whole scene Got Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 07:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_i_am_a_villain/pseuds/but_i_am_a_villain
Summary: She seems to heal fast but never fast enough. That’s why she’s sitting here, looking the way she does, covered in the remnants of mud and bruises and fresh blood because she wouldn’t let them get too close.But it doesn’t matter, does it? Not now. No, because they’re both on their feet now, standing in the shadow of the noose and if they had just called this off, if they hadn’t let it get so far then they wouldn’t be here. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been knocked down or not, it’s still going to end.--Expansion of Ann's nightmare from "Do Ladies Do That?"





	And Forgive Us Our Trespasses

**Author's Note:**

> This show has literally destroyed my life but 1x06 Got Me and the nightmare in particular...so this was the end result. Thank you to shakenspeares for the title and for helping with the summary and also for letting this show take over my life!!

The light burns.

Ann winces as the sun glares down on them, and though she has no proof of how long this situation has dragged out, it must have been days since they’ve been outside. The feel of the summer air scorches her. The day is eating her alive and maybe it’s better that it is. It’s better if this all stings so much that she can’t feel a thing.

Each remaining sense comes alive soon after. She tastes blood, leaking somewhere from the inside of her lip and pooling on her tongue. It’s a stale and tired taste, as though she’s had too much of it already. Her dress smells wretched and so does the crowd. There _is_ a crowd. She sees them now. A thousand faces. Two thousand. Four thousand. Six thousand faces. She hears the shouting.

And the drums.

And the shouting.

And the man in the carriage.

And the shouting.

And the creaking ropes.

And the shouting.

_Hang the whores._

_Burn in hell._

_Fear thy God._

_Hang the whores._

_Hang the whores._

Anne.

She looks to her left and there she is. She’s always there, isn’t she? Somewhere close by, even when Ann thinks she’s gone. Stoic. Infallible.

But not comforting, not this time. Her stance is proud but her eyes are tired. She flashes Ann a sorrowed smile and tries to hold her gaze, tries to keep the noose out of sight and therefore out of mind, and it is somehow so unlike Anne to do so that the whole ploy fails. Nothing is ever out of mind for Anne Lister, nothing goes unseen or uncalculated for. There is no pretending like this isn’t happening. There is no talking around this, no insisting that this is some far away scenario. There’s no talking at all. She’s _silent_. For once, a moment in space and time has rendered Anne speechless, and _that_ scares Ann almost as much as the ropes.

Her panicked gaze continues to flicker back and forth, taking in too much around her all at once. There are so many _faces_ , some she knows and others she never will. There are drums beating louder than the sound of her heart, everyone man and woman in the crowd is holding some kind of a cross, and is Anne bleeding? She is, at the corner of her lip. There’s a cut on the tip of her nose, too, and slashed across her eyebrow. Her shift is torn at the shoulder and stained all along the skirt. She’s bruised and battered and _dirty_ , worse than Ann is herself. She can feel the cut on her own lip and an ache on the underside of her right eye, but both marks feel old. She’s had them a while now. Anne’s look new.

For no more than a second her mind wanders to memories she doesn’t have, moments where someone had backhanded her across the face. Somewhere in her mind there was the order to stop crying, and it was a man’s voice and a man’s hand that came down upon her. Then there was Anne’s voice, breaking through the fog with a calculated and still entirely untempered rage as she threw herself upon whatever man it may have been. There were phrases that Ann feels like she heard from a thousand miles away, cries of _how dare you_ and _don’t touch her_. Ann would have seen, through blurry eyes and a cloudy mind, fists flying. They were Anne’s fists first, wound back too far but landing square on somebody’s nose. Then they were gloved fists, hitting Anne right back. Once. Twice. Three times. She landed in the dirt. Ann couldn’t help her up.

Her mind insists this has happened more than once, that every day for the past few _however long this has been_ Anne has stood in front of her, taken blows for her, risen back up and done it again. She seems to heal fast but never fast enough. That’s why she’s sitting here, looking the way she does, covered in the remnants of mud and bruises and fresh blood because she wouldn’t let them get too close.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? Not now. No, because they’re both on their feet now, standing in the shadow of the noose and if they had just called this off, if they hadn’t let it get so far then they wouldn’t _be_ here. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been knocked down or not, it’s still going to end.

Anne is still looking at her, and though every silent crease of her features tries to assure Ann that everything is going to be alright, it _isn’t_. Anne’s eyes whisper _I love you_ but Ann has long since gone blind to words like those. _I love you_ does not fix Anne’s matted hair or her broken smile. _I love you_ does not quell the tremors or soothe Ann’s panicked breaths. _I love you_ does not silence the crowds or deafen their roar. _I love you_ has landed them here, in this hell, before they move on to the next.

They’re standing now. The carriage stops and there’s no way back. Anne’s eyes are forward now, and with their gazes broken, Ann feels the weight of their deeds collapse on top of her. She is the only one shouldering their burden now, as Anne can’t be bothered to be afraid or if she is she isn’t going to show it. Ann’s knees begin to shake. The shouting never stops.

_You are going to die._

She gives. Death is too close, she can’t stare it down, not again, not again and again and again. Her legs collapse and she crumbles in front of the gallows. Her hands are bound and she can’t keep herself from falling. Anne can’t catch her either, even if she’s tried so many times before.

Where the light had gnawed at her before, the dark consumes her whole.

\--

She wakes, screaming.


End file.
